The Great King of Miraculous Power had returned to his watery lair at the very heart of the river, where he sat in a gloomy and silent mood.
Wukong comforted the two elders and said: “There’s no need to be sad. Gladly would I trade my life for that of your son. This will allow your family name to endure for generations and generations. I am willing to be offered to that Great King you have spoken of.”
The pilgrims resumed their usual life of travelers—walking by day, resting by night, drinking when thirst overtook them, and eating when hunger struck.
A young Taoist began shouting wildly while pounding on the door of his masters’ chambers. “Respected Masters! A terrible misfortune has occurred!”
Wukong, Bajie, and Monk Sha descended from the cloud and entered the Temple of the Three Pures.
Seeing that Bajie was speaking with Monk Sha, Wukong lost his temper and exclaimed in a bad mood:
They traveled nearly seventy kilometers over the most treacherous terrain, yet found not the slightest trace of their master.